Caducus
by NightMajik
Summary: One month ago, Yohji left Weiss.... Why did he leave, and with whom has he found refuge?


Title/Series Title & Number: Caducus* [1/4]: And Then There Were Three  
Author: NightMajik  
Teaser: One month ago, Yohji left Weiß...  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: 1 - 24  
Warnings: Dark, language, shounen ai  
List of Keywords: Yohji, Aya, Weiß, dark, shounen ai

*Caducus: (Latin) One who is fallen  
  


Disclaimers: Weiß does not belong to me. And neither does Metallica, or their lyrics. ^^  
  


Caducus [1/4]: And Then There Were Three  
  


The Struggle Within  
Artist: Metallica  
  


Reaching out for something you've got to feel  
While clutching to what you had thought was real  
  


Kicking at a dead horse pleases you  
No way of showing your gratitude  
So many things you don't want to do  
What is it? What have you got to lose?  
  


What the hell  
What is it you think you're gonna find?  
Hypocrite  
Boredom sets into the boring mind  
  


Struggle within – It suits you fine  
Struggle within – Your ruin  
Struggle within – You seal your own coffin  
Struggle within – The struggling within  
  


Home is not a home it becomes a hell  
Turning it into your prison cell  
Advantages are taken, not handed out  
While you struggle inside your hell  
  


Reaching out  
Grabbing for something you've got to feel  
Closing in  
The pressure upon you is so unreal  
  


Struggle within – It suits you fine  
Struggle within – Your ruin  
Struggle within – You seal your own coffin  
Struggle within – The struggling within  
  


Reaching out for something you've got to feel  
While clutching to what you had thought was real  
What the hell  
  


What is it you think you're gonna find  
Hypocrite  
Boredom sets into the boring mind  
  


Struggle within – It suits you fine  
Struggle within – Your ruin  
Struggle within – You seal your own coffin  
Struggle within – The struggling within  
  


*  
  


"Why did you leave?"  
  


The soft voice cut through the night like a steel angel, like the breath of a dying lamb, sword against skin.  
  


Jade eyes slid briefly closed, screening away an oppressive night. The darkness pressed against his shoulders, and he willingly submitted, allowing himself to hunch slightly over. The wind whipped around him, tearing at his dark clothes, threading harshly through his hair. He ignored it.  
  


Yohji took a slow drag of the thin cigarette that burned in the darkness, a carmine flame. The acrid taste in his mouth seemed flat. He let his eyes open again.  
  


"Why should I have stayed?" was his cryptic remark, floating through the darkness.  
  


The slender silhouette shifted; Omi moved forward slightly, to peer closer up at him, his large, expressive eyes mournfully curious. The moonlight outlined his face palely, illuminating one side with a clean, pure light, leaving the other masked in dark shadows.  
  


"Talk straight," he demanded, his voice a quiet plea.  
  


Yohji took a long breath and let it out slowly. "Why are you out here, Omi?"  
  


Only that. Tone: not cold, not warm.  
  


"Don't act like this, Yohji," Omi said, shaking his head, biting his lip. "Please."  
  


Yohji met his gaze more directly. He let his tone soften somewhat, then repeated: "why are you out here?"  
  


"Why shouldn't I be?" the younger boy returned quietly. "You've been standing out here for a long time now."  
  


Yohji acknowledged the comment with only a glance. The boy's words were true; he had come to the flower shop, unconscious in his actions, but letting his feet lead the way. And there he had remained, just outside the front, leaning against a dimly shining street lamp. He only stood and let time pass, let the stars smile in ignorance, a spectre in the night; he only stood, hardly moving, but apparently, the youngest member of Weiß had noticed.  
  


Omi continued.  
  


"It's been a month, Yohji. We haven't seen you. Haven't heard from you. You've just...disappeared."  
  


Yohji averted his eyes, turning them away from the penetrating, wistful gaze.  
  


"Things happen. Things change." He knew his response was vague, but he wanted it that way.  
  


How could *he* understand?   
  


"I'm not here to criticize you, Yohji," Omi said quietly, as if reading the taller assassin's thoughts, his voice solemn. His words drew Yohji's startled gaze to meet his own.  
  


They stared at each other for a moment, and then Yohji broke the stillness by abruptly flicking the cigarette from his hand, finding no comfort in the caustic taste anymore. It landed against the corner of the sidewalk, where brick met wall, and it gradually burned out.  
  


Yohji let his eyes linger on the cigarette, giving the small admission of, "I didn't think you would."  
  


From the corner of one green eye, he saw Omi nod his head ever so slightly, acknowledging his words as the apology they were meant to be. Yohji wished he could say more--or, more accurately, part of him did. Part of him wanted to apologize for more, to attone for his actions, to somehow find a way to undo what had been done.  
  


But that part of him was slowly being smothered. Killed. And he was doing nothing to stop it, a silhouette in the mouth of an alley that watched in morbid fascination, but ultimately backed away.  
  


"Don't you want to know if things have even changed?" Omi finally asked quietly. "You haven't been talking to the others, have you?"  
  


Yohji shifted his gaze back to the copper-haired boy and shook his head slightly, adding, "no, I haven't even come this way since..since then."  
  


"I didn't think so," Omi acknowledged quietly. He paused, as if waiting for something; eventually, Yohji gave in.  
  


"So what has changed?"  
  


I'm not interested, he argued internally, having heard the slight impatience in his voice when he asked Omi. I just have nothing better to do.   
  


But the thoughts were a lie. And that realization only made him angry.  
  


The ghost of a smile played across Omi's lips at hearing Yohji's irritation at having to ask. Or perhaps it was just a trick of the light. "You might be surprised," Omi said, his boyish voice still unnaturally subdued.  
  


"I doubt it," he responded bitterly. "You can handle the missions with only the three of you. And for the rest... We were assassins, Omi, and that's all. We weren't childhood friends, we didn't grow up together; the four of us *killed* together. I should be easy to forget about; we've forsaken the rest of our lives, I'm just one more person to forget."  
  


And *he's* one more person that I'll never be able to forget.   
  


Flash of red.  
  


He pushed the sudden thought, sudden image, down, forcing his attention on the conversation at hand, turning his eyes back to the feeble, tangerine glow that was his cigarette.  
  


He could feel Omi's deep blue eyes studying him, and he shifting slightly, uncomfortable under the weight of that gaze, wondering what the boy might know. When the young assassin spoke again, his voice was still hushed in the night.  
  


"Do you really believe that? You were our friend," he continued. Yohji scorned the compassion in his voice. "As much as you might want to forget what you've now left behind, you were more than 'another person to kill with'."  
  


Yohji elected silence for a response, casting him only a brief, impenetrable glance.  
  


Omi bit his lip. "Is that all we were to you, then, Yohji?" he demanded quietly. "I know you might want to forget us. I won't pretend to know why you left, but I'm forced to assume it's because you can't take this anymore. Maybe some sort of opportunity presented itself and you wanted to get the hell out.  
  


"But if you can stand there and honestly tell me that we were never even friends to you, you don't deserve to be standing there, to have come back, to be talking to me right now."  
  


There was a thread of anger in the boy's voice, woven next to nostalgia and steel. Yohji let out a long, harsh sigh.  
  


"No," he finally said, swallowing the anger and tension that were not directed at Omi. "No, I..." He sighed again, more softly. "Sorry, Omi," he finally said, "that's not how it was meant to sound. There's just... a lot has happened."  
  


He was grateful when Omi didn't inquire, only accepted the apology in benign silence. Omi knew Yohji was on edge--which was an understatement in itself--and it was wise of him not to push his luck.  
  


After another short moment had passed, and the wind had picked up, sending a gust of angelic breath their way, Omi spoke again, and his tone was somewhat lighter.  
  


"Not too much has changed, really," he finally admitted. "Not with missions, that is. We can handle them, you're right, and we've adapted, I guess. The girls were rather disappointed, however, when they found out you wouldn't be at the flower shop anymore." A light laugh floated from his lips, and Yohji almost couldn't tell that it was forced. He distantly appreciated the boy's effort.  
  


"We all do miss you, though," Omi admitted quietly. "For all your late nights and never being at work on time, and your sarcasm, it... it's just very different without you. If only in regards to intangible things, things have changed."  
  


Everyone has told me change is good, Omi, he thought to the boy darkly, silently. Things changed after I left, for Weiß and for me, and it's supposed to be better. So don't question it. He only wished he believed himself.  
  


Omi peered at him in the darkness, his large eyes once again shining slightly with a wistful quality. Yohji refused to answer, or even let a flicker of the emotion that he felt cross his features.  
  


Omi let a small sigh escape his lips, then continued. "Ken is still the same, though. He misses you, but he hasn't changed much. Still clumsy, still does things without thinking. And I'm alright. I get to do a little more on missions, now," he said, "'cause now they need a little more back up without you there. So I'm not always stuck the whole time with a computer."  
  


Yohji acknowledged his words with a slight nod. There didn't seem to be anything fitting to say in response, and in the small stretch of unnatural silence that flowed between them he let his eyes wander back to the feeble cigarette. He could only find it in the darkness because he knew where it had once glowed. Its life had faded.  
  


Like mine has faded.   
  


"Aya has changed."  
  


He jerked his head back to Omi before he could check himself. Mentally, he cursed, both for his obvious reaction, and for his heart that suddenly refused to slow down.  
  


Omi may have noticed his reaction, but if so, he was perceptive enough to carefully ignore it. He continued. "He's... Well, gotten more quiet, if that's really possible. With him, the change isn't drastic, and yet... It is. I don't know how to explain it," he said, slightly frustrated. "Lots of small things that just add up. It's not like it used to be with him."  
  


"More cruel and sinister?" Yohji sneered, before he could stop himself. Emotions, deeply smothered, swirled within him.  
  


Omi blinked up at him, and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Another thread of curses drifted through Yohji's mind for his words. With effort, he forced his expression to resume an impervious façade. But he had slipped, and Omi had unmistakably noticed.  
  


"Look, I gotta go," he said, straightening with actions abrupt and harsh. He couldn't stay there any longer. He didn't want to have come in the first place.  
  


"Yohji-"  
  


"Don't try, Omi," he said, his voice hard. He didn't care as the flash of hurt danced across the depths of Omi's eyes.  
  


Why the fuck did I come back anyway? he repeated in his mind, savagely snuffing out the emotions that still wanted to flicker.  
  


"Don't even try." He turned and walked away.  
  


*  
  


"What do you know?"  
  


Aya lifted his head, letting his startlement only register in the slight widening of his eyes. It was late, and he had probably figured that Omi was asleep. But there was too much on Omi's mind for slumber.  
  


The boy entered fully, pushing the door silently open and slipping inside. The room was dark, but Omi had known that Aya was not asleep; peering through the slightly ajar door, he had seen the red head laying on his back, staring at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head.  
  


In all honesty, it wasn't unnatural for the redhead to be prone like that, still awake this late hour; Omi knew he never really slept well. He thought--brooded--too much. But his insomnia was not the topic at hand.  
  


Aya's plum gaze was both critical and unreadable. "Omi. What are you talking about?"  
  


"Yohji," he stated flatly. Watching carefully, he thought he saw the briefest flicker of emotion pass across those mirror-like eyes. But he couldn't be sure.  
  


Then Aya only turned his head away, letting it fall back against his hands, and returning to his perusal of the ceiling, seemingly uncaring. "What do you think I know?" he demanded quietly.  
  


"Why he left."  
  


Aya flicked a glance in the young boy's direction, and shifted his shoulders in what was apparently a shrug. "And you expect me to know?"  
  


Omi's eyes narrowed. "Don't play games; I've played enough tonight."  
  


He saw Aya frown at the ceiling. "What do you mean?" he asked, after a slight hesitation. There was still a decided lack of emotion in his voice.  
  


Omi sighed, determined. "Listen, Aya," he said, reaching up to absently brush back his copper bangs, then folding his arms. "I'm not leaving until I get an answer out of you."  
  


Aya appeared briefly, cynically, amused by this, but Omi didn't let it faze him.  
  


"I'm serious," was all he said.  
  


Aya responded with nothing. Omi hated the way he did this, the way he chose to become coldly silent and expected everyone to respect that. And normally they did, they only shrugged and accepted that he wouldn't talk.  
  


But Omi refused to let that be the case tonight.  
  


"I spoke with him." Omi's soft words were aimed to hit their mark, and he noted with distant satisfaction that Aya's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. The redhead slowly turned his head back to Omi. His gaze was unreadable, but Omi could see that the mask of indifference, lack of caring, had dropped. His eyes were intense.  
  


"When?" he demanded.  
  


Omi tilted his head, studying him thoughtfully, then responded. "Outside. A few minutes ago."  
  


Aya didn't seem to react to his reply in any way. Omi opened his mouth to again demand what he knew, but was cut off by a sleepy voice from behind them.  
  


"What's going on?" Ken asked, pausing briefly to stifle a yawn. He blinked owlishly at them, peering past tousled, chocolate colored bangs and squinting in the light of the hallway. His gaze shifted from Omi to Aya. He frowned slightly. "Somethin' wrong?"  
  


Omi shook his head mutely, lost in thought, and Aya barely acknowledged the former soccer player with a glance before returning to his studious appraisal of the dark ceiling. Apparently, he thought the discussion was over, now that a new element had entered and the momentary spell was broken. But Omi, watching him critically, did not share the sentiment.  
  


"We were discussing Yohji," he finally pronounced, deliberately breaking the silence in which Aya sat unmoving and Ken stood looking at the two of them with a mixture of sleep and curiosity in his eyes.  
  


To the boy's brief satisfaction, as he watched out of the corner of his eye, Omi saw what might have been a slight start from Aya, and then the redhead cast him a look that could very well be considered a glare. He was not accustomed to the rest of Weiß pressing him.  
  


Sorry, Aya, Omi thought briefly. But not this time. Whatever it is, I'm not gonna stand by and let you hide whatever it is you're hiding.   
  


The boy was determined.  
  


"Yohji?" Ken repeated, appearing somewhat more alert now. "Why? What happened?"  
  


"Ask Aya," Omi replied.  
  


Aya's eyebrows drew down. Ken gave Omi a curious look, then turned his deep gave to Aya. "Well?" he demanded. "The hell's goin' on?" he asked, already impatient.  
  


Aya sighed. Nothing else followed.  
  


Omi frowned, then turned to Ken and explained briefly. "Yohji was outside a few minutes ago-"  
  


"What!? Why didn't you wake us? How is he? What-"  
  


Omi silenced him with a cerulean gaze laced with irritation. Ken swallowed the words sheepishly and allowed him to continue.  
  


"We didn't say too much... He... he just wouldn't. I didn't understand half of what he was saying anyway, really. I asked him why he left. He wouldn't tell me. But what he said implies that one of us knows why he left." He directed his eyes to the brooding redhead. Ken's followed. "Tell us, Aya," Omi said, young voice firm.  
  


"Why?" Aya demanded abruptly. All pretenses of cold uncaring were gone. The gaze he flicked to them was hard.  
  


"....why?" Omi repeated. "What do you mean?"  
  


"Don't you think we deserve to know?" Ken demanded.  
  


"What occurred did not involve either of you." His voice was cold. Flat.  
  


"Like hell!" Ken said irritably, glaring fiercely at Aya. "Yohji's leaving involved us *all*. We"--he gestured at Omi and himself--"may not know what led up to it all, but it happened, and it *did* affect us."  
  


"Please, Aya," Omi added, his eyes compassionate, but his voice still determined.  
  


The impenetrable member of Weiß remained on his back, his head turned in their direction. No one moved. He presented the likeness of a statue, as cold and as dispassionate. But his eyes remained the opposite. Within them a violet fire raged; jaded, angry, and perhaps ever so wistful.  
  


Omi had never seen such intense emotion reflected there. He suddenly did not know what to say.  
  


Maybe... Have we pushed him too far...?   
  


A shadow of silence, however, Aya abruptly put an end to Omi's dilemma. Flash of lightning, within the past few moments, innumerable things about the redhead had changed. He seemed suddenly weary. Tired of... *something*. And he even reflected the semblance of pain.  
  


He spoke.  
  


"A lot happened that you didn't know about. I don't know how long before he left, but long enough. But we both kept it a secret. Because it didn't affect you."  
  


His low voice, suddenly dancing on the edges of emotion, proved as effective as a trance. Neither of the two younger members of Weiß encroached in any way during the brief pause that Aya presented. His silence didn't suggest a response. So they only waited.  
  


The short monologue continued, and he rolled his head back to the way it had been before, his eyes trained on the ceiling.  
  


"A lot had happened," he repeated. "And Yohji and I... We were lovers."  
  


Omi, caught completely off guard, found that any words he might have wanted to speak fell from his lips. He stared at Aya, incomprehensive in the silence that followed.  
  


... Lovers...?   
  


"Lovers!?" Ken burst out, apparently having no regard to keep his thoughts to himself. "What-"  
  


Omi jabbed him swiftly in the ribs, and he bit off his words with a stifled curse. But the look he cast Omi was not a glare for the intrusion of the boy's elbow. His eyes were wide, and he looked terribly confused.  
  


Omi took a deep breath, allowing ocean-blue orbs to drift back to Aya. The katana-wielding assassin had not moved, or even given any indication that he Ken's outburst had registered.  
  


"Aya," he finally asked, his voice quiet and steady, although his heart was pounding at the implications.  
  


Then how could that have led to this...? Thoughts were tearing through his head as if tomorrow did not exist.  
  


"Is this true?"  
  


For a single moment, brief like the flicker of a lost light, Aya's eyes shifted to him. The violet gaze swirled with emotions that were perhaps too profound for Omi to comprehend.  
  


"Hai."  
  


With that response hanging in the room, Omi found himself with nothing else to say. Somehow, suddenly, it didn't seem right to press the subject anymore. The fact that Yohji and Aya were--had been--what Aya claimed was shock enough. What was worse was seeing how Aya was reacting. The emotion that he allowed them to see was unheard of; nothing had ever touched him this deeply, save for anything involving his sister. And Omi, not ashamed to admit it, was afraid of the implications.  
  


Ken, apparently, had had enough for one night as well. Whether Omi intended to keep talking, it seemed he didn't intend to stick around.  
  


Regaining himself, finding the will to react, Ken abruptly and clumsily backed up.  
  


"Listen, I... I gotta... go back to bed... now. 'Night."  
  


He disappeared.  
  


Omi allowed himself another moment to remain there in silence, thoughts in his mind refusing to slow down, but feeling no compulsion to ask any more questions.  
  


Not tonight.   
  


He shook his head mutely, in a silent agreement with the thoughts in his head.  
  


Aya... I don't know what to say to you. So I won't say anything--that's the way you would prefer it, isn't it?   
  


But... Please, Aya. Tell us more. Tell us something, because I want to understand. I want to understand not only for myself, but for you. So please...   
  


His thoughts drifted off. With one last, compassionate glance directed at the fateful shadow that was Aya, he faded back into the darkness.  



End file.
